


Twenty - Six

by notjustmom



Series: The Boys in Sussex [27]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Retirement, Sussex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-29 19:09:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom





	1. Chapter 1

John watched Sherlock's face as he slept, and wondered how he hadn't known. And at how easily he accepted Sherlock's improbable version of their lives together. And yet. 

"Shhhh... it's alright, Sherlock. I'm here." John cradled Sherlock in his arms as he seemed to be fighting something as he slept. "I'm here, love."

"John?"

"Yes, love, it's still early, go back to sleep."

"You're not upset with me?" Sherlock's deep voice rumbled quietly against John's chest.

"Of course not, why would I be upset?" John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, and felt him relax into him, deeper into sleep. 

"I - shouldn't have told you - it will change everything, I just wanted, I didn't want to be alone anymore..."

"You aren't alone, love."

"Hmmm." Sherlock snuggled closer to John and settled into silence once again. John closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep himself.

 

"John."

"Wha - Sher - what is it?"

"I understand if you - if you want to forget about what we talked about last night. It was selfish of me to tell you. I've - lived with this, with this idea of us for so long, that it's just something I've accepted, I never would have said anything - but -"

"No, Sherlock. It explains so much about us, why we..." John looked into Sherlock's eyes and touched his face gently. "Our first case together, the cabbie. I knew, somehow, I had to follow you, it was more than instinct, it was as if I was saving myself when I pulled the trigger. I had taken lives in war, to protect my men, defend the wounded I was caring for, but that night, I knew you were in trouble, and that it was up to me to protect you, protect us. It wasn't a voice, precisely, it was a tightness in my chest, a strong feeling that you needed me, and I felt responsible for you from that day on. It makes sense now."

"What does?" Sherlock stifled a yawn and blinked at John.

"All those times I tried to get you to eat and sleep, why I kept chasing after you - protecting you, trying to - if I had known, Sherlock, I never would have married her - I should have known. But, I was so angry at you, for leaving me, I couldn't feel anything, for such a long time, eventually it faded into apathy, and then she was there - and I let it happen. I don't know how -"

"John?" Sherlock sat up as John turned away, threw off the blanket and moved to get out of bed.

"How you forgave me for her, why didn't I know, Sherlock? I should have known. About her, about us. I -"

"John, don't. Please? Look at me, I'm the same person, we are the same as we were yesterday - tell me we are?" 

John stopped as Sherlock laid a trembling hand on his back, then turned again to face him and saw the same eyes, sharp cheekbones and the full lips that - he shook his head and whispered as he laid a finger on those lips, "of course we are, love, after all we've been through to get here? I just need the loo." He grinned as he kissed him softly, sighing as he saw the relief in Sherlock's eyes. "I'll be right back."

 

"Mum?"

"Hmm? Oh, morning, John." Grace looked up from raking the leaves in the graveyard and stopped as she saw his face. "What is it?"

"I have an idea for a story - kind of a ghost story. No, that's not quite right, more a romance... I'm just curious - do you, I know this will sound a bit, uhm, crazy, but do you believe in past lives, soul mates, that sort of thing?"

"Yes, of course."

"I know it soun - what?"

"Of course. I don't really have much of a belief system, not organised, but I know, Em and I had known each other before. I - I used to have dreams..."

"Her, but not her."

Grace nodded, and went back to raking.

John moved to sit on the bench next to Emily's stone. "What if I told you that Sherlock and I -"

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least."

"I have memories, Mum, and the way he says certain words, his quirks that -"

"Her eyes, her eyes were the same. Every time, that's how I knew it was her, and the sass. She always had a mouth on her, got us both in trouble more times than not." She stopped raking again and looked over at him. "You didn't know, he told you, finally. Don't hold it against him, John."

"He told you?"

"No. I knew, the first moment, at the train station. And Gertrude... Howard - he's, my - our guide is the best word for what he is, they are."

"Howard."

"Em and I, we met here the first time centuries ago. I'm not sure how many more times we have left, now that I'm back here again. Listen to me, John." She dropped the rake and knelt in front of him, and took his hands in hers. "He - you know what he has done time and time again to keep you safe, to keep you with him. Don't, just don't treat him any differently than you did yesterday. This doesn't change anything, doesn't change what you have, who you are, it just means you are two of the luckiest blokes -"

"Lucky." John snorted.

"You get to be with him. Em and I -" She shook her head at him and shrugged.

"Oh - Mum."

"Just love him, John." She smiled at him and squeezed his hands. "I have to go inside, I have bread dough - " She got up slowly and dusted off her knees. "Just love him." She picked up the rake and walked towards the house.

"I will, Mum, I will."


	2. Chapter 2

John sat down at his laptop and opened a new document.

 

The first time they met, on the day Victoria married Albert, Will was three, Thomas was older, he always was, always would be. Thomas was bored, so he hid under one of the great tables, to escape getting his cheeks pinched by all the ladies-in-waiting, he'd rather be -

"Hullo."

Thomas nodded. 

"I'm Will. I hate it."

"Hate what?"

"M'name. It's boring."

"I think it's a good name."

Will crossed his arms and glared at Thomas with bright green eyes. "Why?"

"Will Shakespeare -"

"Who he?"

"Writer. He wrote plays, amazing plays."

"Plays?"

"A play is a story, people get up in front of other people and tell a story."

"Oh. That sounds okay. Who else?"

"My favourite, William Wallace."

"Who he?"

"You don't know who William Wallace is? How old are you?" Thomas narrowed his eyes and looked at him closely. He was tallish, at least he seemed tall, it was hard to tell since they were currently sitting under a table; thin, had a head full of raven curls, and a look appeared in his brilliant eyes, almost disappointed.

"You won't talk to me if I tell you," he whispered and began to crawl out.

"Let me guess."

Will thought about it for a long moment and nodded, sitting up as tall he could.

"Seven."

"Nope."

"Younger?"

Will nodded.

"Five?"

Will shook his head. "I'm three. And a half."

Thomas shrugged. "Why would I stop talking to you?"

Will rolled his eyes. "I'm three and a half. You are eig - no, you just turned nine. That's why."

"Oh. Wait. How did you know I just turned nine?"

"Just a guess."

"Why would I stop talking to you just because you're younger?"

"My brother - he's a year older than you. He doesn't talk to me anymore."

"Ask him about Shakespeare. I wouldn't bring up Wallace -"

 

"John?"

"Yeah?" John blinked up at Sherlock and smiled.

"Are you hungry? It's lunchtime, but if you're in the middle of something, I'll leave you to it."

"No, it's okay, I've hit a good stopping point. I'll let you see it tonight if you want."

Sherlock's eyes glittered at him. "Yeah, of course."

"Come here."

"What?" Sherlock looked at him uncertainly and bit his lip.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't worry." John stood up and placed his hand on Sherlock's chest then leaned into him and closed his eyes as Sherlock tentatively brought his arms around him. "I'm yours, love, as I always have been."


	3. Chapter 3

"So, what's going on, Harry?" John asked quietly as they washed up after lunch.

She looked over at him and shrugged, then sat down at the table. "Case."

John nodded and looked out the window, catching a glimpse of Sherlock and Grace checking the bees, then he turned and took a seat next to Harry.

"I've worked a lot of cases, most of them are heartbreaking, some are harder than others, some not so bad as they go - but a few weeks ago, I get a kid - ten years old, blond, blue-eyes, angry, won't talk. I managed to get through the first meeting without losing my lunch, not sure how. Father out of the picture, Mum works, is never home. There was a concerned teacher, social workers got involved. I've tried talking to him, asking him what he wants, I've told him I'm representing him. He seems to understand. And all I can see is you. I should have given the case to another lawyer from the beginning, but - I couldn't desert you again. Every night, I get in my car and I drive to a pub and sit in the car for a while, I don't go in, I just sit, and then I drive home and crash. Finally, a couple of days ago, I knew if I didn't get out of London -"

"I was never your responsibility, Harry." John said quietly.

"I know, but -"

John shook his head at her and took her hand. "You don't. It was never your job to take care of me, Harry."

"You shouldn't have -"

"Yeah, well, sometimes life stinks. If you can help this kid, help him. Talk to his mum, see if there is anyone else, but if it's too much, Harry, find someone who won't take it so personally."

"They are all personal."

"Harry -"

She finally looked over at him and nodded. "Thanks." 

"You don't have to -"

"Yeah, yeah, I do. One day, I'll get used to this - not today."

John squeezed her hand. "I know exactly what you mean, Harry."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Harry cleared her throat. "I've noticed you've been typing a lot - got through your writer's block?"

He shrugged, then mumbled, "It's kind of a fairy tale - if you want to see it, it's a bit rough at the moment -" 

"Email me a copy when you are ready for me to see it, yeah?"

"Will do."

"It's funny," she muttered as she got up from the table and gazed out the window.

"What is?"

"Out in the world, most days, I have to remind myself to stop and breathe - when I'm here, I dunno - if you guys could bottle whatever it is, you two would make out like bandits. Clara's up in the treehouse, think I'll join her." She turned back again and met John's eyes.

"Yeah - I know." John grinned at her as she disappeared out the kitchen door.

 

"You were right."

"Will?"

"How did -"

"I find you?"

Thomas nodded, as he continued mucking out the stable.

"Easy peasy, would have been easier had I known your name."

"Thomas, I'm Thomas." He grinned as Will rolled his eyes.

"I know that now."

Thomas stopped and blew out a breath. "What was I right about?"

"Shakethp- Shakespeare was okay, Wallace, not so much. Never seen Al turn so red so fast, not since I - never mind."

"I didn't get you in trouble, did I?"

"Nah, I'm good at that all on my own."

Thomas narrowed his eyes at Will, noting the fine clothing he was wearing. "You don't live in the servant's quarters."

"Nope." Will met his glance and crossed his arms.

"Slumming it, then?"

"Slumming?"

"Seeing how the other side lives?" Thomas growled as he picked up his pitchfork and went back to work.

"I have offended you." Will mumbled, "I just - no one else talks to me - you are different."

"Won't someone come looking for you?"

Will shrugged. "Eventually. I'm supposed to be 'resting.' How do you know about Shakes - the Will who wrote plays?"

Thomas stopped again. "Books, my da - he always thought I'd find a way out of here, if I were smart enough. Let me finish this and I can get you one of my books - if you want." He looked down at Will and sighed. "Who are you exactly, anyway?"

Will shook his head. "I'm nobody. Just a younger brother. I could give you the family tree but it's boring - we're cousins, distant cousins of Vicky. I only call her that when no one else is around, makes her smile. She doesn't smile much."

Thomas froze and pinched his nose. "Bloody hell. Oh - sorry."

Will laughed. "Don't worry, I know all those words, my brother, Aloysius, he lets them slip out, tells me to forget - but I can't."

"Can't what?"

"Forget. Anything."

Thomas watched Will's young face crinkle for a moment, then dissolve into resignation. "Give me five minutes, it's almost time for tea - where, how?"

Will turned and pointed to a window. "Ivy. Been there for centuries, probably... don't worry, it's perfectly safe. Can I -"

"Don't be ridiculous, Will. They will already know where you've been - the stink sticks. I'm almost done...

 

Molly placed a piece of toast and a mug of tea next to him. "You really get lost, don't you?"

"Hmmm? Oh, sorry. Thanks, Molly. How is the nursery going?" John took a bite of toast and sighed, suddenly realising how hungry he was.

"We finished painting a couple of days ago, Greg and Phil are putting the room back together - want to see?"

"Yeah, I'd love to." He pushed away from the desk and stood up, then looked at her. "Wow..."

"Wow, what?" Molly narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, it's, I haven't seen you in days, it's wild - you look amazing, how do you feel?"

"I feel great, I'd always heard horror stories, but, other than feeling her move around, and none of my clothes fitting, I've never felt better. Come on, come see it."

"Okay, okay!" John grabbed his toast as Molly dragged him towards the nursery. Molly knocked on the door and Greg yelled, "Give me a minute!"

"It's just me - well, me and John."

Greg opened the door and shrugged. "Still need to -"

Molly sighed. "Oh, Greg. It's beautiful."

John walked in and nodded. "Yeah, mate, it's brilliant. This was always meant to be yours." The walls were painted a soft, warm yellow, with white trim. The cradle Phil had finished last week had been placed next to the bed, the books that Sherlock had ordered were starting to fill the bookcases. He wondered again at his life, their life - he shook his head and turned around, and found himself gazing up into Sherlock's sparkling eyes. He leaned into him and closed his eyes as Sherlock took him into his arms. He knew no words were needed, and yet he mumbled,"I love you."

Sherlock nodded and held him tighter. "I know, John."

 

"What's your favourite play?"

Thomas flipped through the fragile pages carefully. "Henry V."

"He wrote about kings?"

"And battles. And fairies. And love."

"Do you believe in love?"

Thomas shrugged. "Dunno, I'm only nine."

"I do."

Thomas was about to laugh at the younger boy's certainty, but then he looked into Will's eyes and saw something there, something older, wiser than he would ever be.

"Yeah. I do, too."


	4. Chapter 4

John paced the bedroom nervously as Sherlock read over his first few bits of the story. "It's just a rough draft - if you hate it -"

Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper. "How -"

"What?"

"Did you remember?" Sherlock's voice became even smaller somehow.

"Sherlock?"

"It's like you were - well, you were there, but, how?"

"I - I don't know, Sherlock - it's like I can go back there, and I can hear you, see you, see us, as we were then. I guess it's kind of cheating in a way. I just wanted to write about us, them. I -"

"Come here."

"Sherlock."

"John."

John met Sherlock's eyes and silently undressed. Keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock's, watching them grow slowly darker, he whispered, "I'm not Thomas, Sherlock. I'm here."

Sherlock blinked at him, then watched as he climbed into bed. "I'm not Thomas, Sherlock. Look at me, love."

"Mycroft - Aloysius, he told me, told me you, Thomas, wasn't coming back. At first, I thought he just meant you, he wasn't coming back to the stables, you had gone to University, left me behind, and then I saw he meant something else, he actually was quite sympathetic. He didn't understand, not really, but he - could have - he didn't have to tell me, he wanted me to hear it from someone who knew we were friends. Friends." Sherlock snorted and felt for the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. "I had never lost anyone before." Sherlock reached a shaky hand out to touch John's face. "It is you," he breathed out. "I never - Will never, he buried himself in his studies - I never." Sherlock shook his head. "Thomas was the only friend I ever -"

"I know, love." John kissed him gently. "If it's too hard, I don't have to do this, it's just what - I sit down and this just seems to write itself. Do you know, I saw you, you, as you are now in Will's eyes. You had such old eyes for a child. You were my very best friend. You made me believe. I - Thomas never would have left you behind, he - he thought of you - his last thought was of you, of Will. He didn't want to leave you. I didn't want to leave you, Sherlock."

"John. Just - can you hold me? Please?"

"Course, love." John shifted over to his pillows and gathered Sherlock into his arms. "Do you remember your favorite bits of the speech, the night before Agincourt -"

"How could I forget?" Sherlock closed his eyes, cleared his throat and began, John shivered as he felt Sherlock's deep voice rumble against his chest.

 

"...I am a king that find thee, and I know  
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,  
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,  
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,  
The farced title running 'fore the king,  
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp  
That beats upon the high shore of this world,  
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony  
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,  
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave..."*

 

John kissed Sherlock's curls as Sherlock gently faded into sleep. "I never wanted to leave you, love. Not once, not ever." He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful rest.

 

"Rough night?"

John nodded as he fell into a chair and tried to cover a yawn. "How do you - do you see her, in different times?"

"Not as much anymore." Grace put a cup of tea in front of him. "She's fading, but I'm remembering her as she was the last time more. I don't know how it works, John. I've never - it's a gift, but it makes it hard to see other people. Do you know what I mean?"

John nodded again and took a sip of tea. "When I'm writing, I live there - I'm with him, as we were then, but I can see him, as he is now. I know who he is. It's crazy, and yet - it's not. I know he's with me." He put his mug down and pressed his hands to his eyes. "I'm not sure - why us, Mum?"

Grace shrugged. "I honestly don't know, I tried figuring it out. Eventually, I just accepted that I was tied to her - and Howard, it just was part of existing, part of life, like breathing, they were just -"

"There."

"Yeah. Got to where I started searching for them, sometimes, it took a long time, but I always found them, or they found me - once, we were pirates."

"Pirates?" John snorted and covered his mouth.

"We were fierce."

John shook his head and chuckled. "I bet." He finished his tea and looked at her. "Thanks, Mum. I know why now."

"Why what, John."

"Why - everything - everything just makes sense, now. Now I just have to figure out how to - I think it's going to be harder on Sherlock - he lost me so many times, and it's all coming back."

"Just be there, John."

"I will. I have to go -"

"I know, love." She watched him upstairs and she whispered to the darkness. "They'll be fine, Em, they are so much stronger than we were. Just a bit of growing pains, John will take care of him, lead him through it. They'll be fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *from Henry V, Act IV, scene I


	5. Chapter 5

"Thomas?" Will looked up from his book and smiled, then shook his head as he saw him dressed in uniform. "No."

"I have to. It is what - what is expected of me."

"Wait, can't you wait? Let me go with you."

Thomas looked away. "You don't want - I don't want to go, Will. It's what I have to do."

"I can - I'll get Al to - he knows people -"

"No. I don't want someone to go in my place, just because - listen. In case, in case I don't, if something happens to me..."

Will got up and backed away. "Don't."

"Please? It's important, Will." Thomas put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bag. "This was my father's, and his father's before him, I want you to hold onto it for me, keep it safe, remember - I - you." He shrugged as he watched Will turn towards the window. "I'm leaving it here on your desk." He sighed as he knew it was no use, he knew when Will made up his mind, there was nothing to be done. "My train leaves in an hour. You are my greatest friend, my only friend, Will. I will do everything I can to make it back, if I don't, I hope you know -" He spun on his heel and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Good-bye, Thomas." Will whispered, as a single tear traveled down his cheek.

 

"I never should have let you leave without saying good-bye." Sherlock mumbled as he sat on the porch.

"Hmm?" Z looked at him curiously.

"Sorry?" Sherlock blinked and looked over at him, suddenly recalling where he was.

"You were talking to someone -"

Sherlock cleared his throat and tried to shake off the layers of time as if they were cobwebs. "John's writing a story - it's kind of a time -travel - historical - romance thing. Hell." He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "We - he and I - we've known each other a long time, through more than one lifetime, I seem to be the one who carries it, who remembers, and I finally told him a couple of days ago, and he can't stop writing now, it's as if the floodgates have opened, he's remembering everything." He glanced over at Z who was nodding. 

"There is a 'tradition' in our family, some call it a curse, others see it as a gift. I don't have it, whatever 'it' is. Thomas, my grandson - he - it was one reason he left, he thought he could outrun it, only to meet his 'person' when he was overseas. When he was injured, he had to leave him behind, and when he was killed in action, that's when Thomas -" Z's voice trailed off. He took a breath and began again, quietly, "Grace, she and Em. She left once Em was gone. She would have left eventually, if John's father hadn't been driving through - and now she's back." He shrugged and saw the deep circles under Sherlock's eyes. "You are the one who gets left."

Sherlock nodded. "We've never been this old together. If he survives whatever war he serves in, he always marries someone else, there are never children. This time - I don't know why it's different this time."

Z shrugged. "I don't know, you disrupted it, maybe? When you left him - even though it wasn't real? If it's too much you need to tell him."

Sherlock shook his head. "I would have the dreams whether he wrote the stories or not. He's just in them, now, he's with me. I was alone before. I didn't feel his presence - now, he shares the dreams with me. In our first life together, the first one I remember, any way, I let him leave, I let him go to war without saying good-bye to him. And he didn't return, Z. He didn't know -"

"He knew, Sherlock. He keeps finding you, you keep finding each other - maybe because you said good-bye to him before you left him? You broke the pattern, somehow, or it's just finally your time?"

"Boys?" Gladys walked onto the porch. "It's getting chilly, come in and have your tea. I made gingerbread, figured it was finally the right weather."

"With lemon curd?" Sherlock whispered.

"How else?" She sniffed as she went back inside.

"How do you -"

"How do I deal with knowing I only get one time with her?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Just try to love her the best I can, appreciate the time we have - same as you do." Z shivered as the wind rattled the windows. "Come on, time fer tea."

Sherlock slowly got to his feet, then helped Z as he almost lost his balance. 

"I'm fine, just getting old. If you're lucky, Sherlock, one day, you will too."

Sherlock grinned at him as they went inside. "I hope so, Z."

 

"What is it?" John looked up from his keyboard and glanced at Sherlock's face.

"I have something that belongs to you."

"Sherlock?"

"I've always had it with me. I've never sold it, even when there were days when I had nothing left." He opened his hand and John let out a breath.

"It's not," John whispered.

Sherlock nodded. "Thomas left it for Will, in case - so he wouldn't forget him. I've researched it, went to the V and A, it's from the 1770s. London made, it's one of the few things I've ever really taken care of. It's usually, Mycroft kept it in his safe for me, gave it to me on our wedding day, he thought I was finally ready to 'handle the responsibility'. I know, it's not much to look at, it was still working when Thomas left, it stopped when, you, when he -" Sherlock bit his lip, then continued softly, as he took John's hand in his. "I should have known he was gone when it stopped, but it took a few weeks for them to officially declare you - Thomas, killed in action, can't remember what the official wording was back then - Al - gave me your medals, your ribbons, there was no one else - I couldn't take them, I told him to get of them. But I kept his watch, for when it was time to return it." He kissed John's palm, then placed the watch in John's hand, closing his fingers around it. "In case you still have doubts -"

"I don't, Sherlock. I know, I know what we are, love. As crazy as it should be, it -" he carefully opened his hand and looked at the ancient timepiece, it had a couple of dents in the case, and the glass was a bit scratched. "It's a bit like us, isn't it? A bit damaged, but it has survived the wars -" He shook his head and gazed up at Sherlock. "Let's go upstairs, you need to rest, we need to rest, love." Sherlock nodded and waited for John to stand up and take his hand and lead him back to bed.


	6. Chapter 6

"You awake?"

Sherlock mumbled against John's chest, "yeah."

"I'm afraid to sleep."

"Anything I can do?"

John snorted, then let out a moan as Sherlock's fingers began working on his trousers. "Sher -"

"Shh. Close your eyes, John. Let me."

"I keep - ohhhhhmmmm -"

"Do you remember our picnic? I think I was ten - we snuck into Vicky's private stash of sweets, then into that garden - you read me something, we fell asleep, and if Vicky hadn't thought it was funny - I can still see Al's face." Sherlock laughed into John's chest then froze as John began murmuring, barely above a hush, just loud enough for him to hear, just as he had back then,

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,   
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks   
Within his bending sickle's compass come;   
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,   
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."* 

 

"I carried the little book of sonnets you had given me for my twenty-first birthday, it was with me - him. You were always with mmmmm - hmmmmmgoddddsher -"

Sherlock watched John's eyes roll back in his head as his long fingers teased him into orgasm; he wondered for not the first time, how they had been granted so many chances to become what they were in this life.

"Shhhh, come sleep, love, yer thinking way too much - let them rest for a while, hmmm?"

Sherlock got up and went to the bathroom to retrieve a damp, warm flannel, sighing as he returned to see John fast asleep, not the rest of memory, but the slumber of - he shook his head, cleaned both of them off, then threw the cloth on the sidetable, and curled around his love and slept a dreamless sleep for the next twelve hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116


End file.
